Backwards Boosh
by Soft-Rock-Star-Noir
Summary: Fashion changes quickly, will Vince get left behind?- first fic please read and review


Don't own. Don't tell. Don't sue. Enjoy

My first fic please review :)

It was raining outside, and the rain pitter pattered in the Shoreditch pavements. But brightening up the gloomy afternoon was a brightly lit, colourful shop with the word Nabootique above the door. Inside the empty shop two men were talking behind a till.

'And that, good sir, is why you must never anger and African pygmy hedgehog.'

Vince Noir shook his head 'no way, hedgehogs are cute, with their punk hair and knowing how to cross roads.'

'They may look cute my friend. But then BAM… severe rectal trauma!'

'I like Rectal Trauma' grinned Vince

'Woh there' said Howard with a quick look to camera, 'lets not encourage the rumours'

'No the band, Rectal Trauma. They're a new electro/metal band. They played the Velvet Onion on Monday.' Vince shook his head sniggering.

Howard was about to tell Vince exactly what he thought of bands that named themselves 'rectal trauma' but then the shop bell rang and they both looked up to see who'd arrived.

It was a girl; Howard pulled himself up to full height. She was gorgeous, tall and willowy, with long limbs and blue hair.

Pretty Hot, thought Vince but stoped in his tracks taking in her strange clothes. She was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with matching corduroy shorts, in a colour that Howard would have described as 'promiscuous taupe' but Vince called 'fucking awful'. Their was also a matching tribly atop her head. And she was moving her hands about a lot.

'Are you Howard Moon?' she asked and Vince recognized her voice.

'Oh my God, you're Sazi D'lyt from Rectal Trauma. I was at your gig last week.'

'Yeah well, we're changing our name. We're thinking The Pencilcases or The Elbowpatches. I was actually wondering' she said looking at Howard, 'If you wouldn't mind fronting us tonight?'

Howard opened his mouth ' well um…' but was cut off.

Hold on a minute what's going on, I'm Vince Noir- rock star, electro prince, king of cool. He doesn't know anything about electro.'

Sazi gave him a withering look, ' Electro's out Noir'. And onto the table she threw a fresh coy of Cheekbone. The front cover exclaimed the words ' Jazz Maverick' and underneath promised a four page moustache expose.

Vince Fainted.

He awoke upstairs in the flat with Naboo stroking his hair.

'Get off you rapist!' he sat up quickly.

'The Sky remotes stuck to your hairspray you bawbag.' Extracting the controller he switched on the telly, Nigella was on, making brownies, Naboo grinned.

' Bollo grab a baggy, this time they'll taste proper.'

The ape came shambling in. 'Vince awake?'

Vince looked at him, mind racing. How had this happened? He was Mayor of Camden, Cheekbone looked to him for future looks; not the Northern Tosspot.

'Naboo, I've got troubles.' And he began to explain. However, we know what he's going to say so instead I'm going to write the Vince takes his shirt off and we can spend the few minutes, that would be otherwise wasted, imagining that. Oh Yeaahhh.

'Trust uncle Naboo yeah?', by this point he was toking on his hookah, Vince wandered how he set it up so fast. ' Listen Vince, fashion comes and goes, like birds migrating or Iggy's hair. By next week Howard will be old news. You just gotta work out the next look.'

And, with a toss of his hair and taking a route that wasn't strictly the straightest path to his room so as to check the mirror, Vince Noir retired into a fashion montage.

Three Hours Later

After discarding all neons as 'so futuristic they look dated' and a sequined jumpsuit as ' too predictable', and a mirrorball cowboy outfit as ' too Brokeback'. He eventually found his new look, this one was it, this was a big deal: French Revolutionary Grunge. He was wearing trademark Vince Noir Jeans In A Can ( patent pending), an off white ruffled shirt, and velvet coat, and a grey and black stripy, knitted scarf. Awesome.

He bounded downstairs to the shop, determined to show off his new look. He found Howard sitting dejecting listening to the blues.

' Ugh can we put that off? I don't want enlarged glands again.'

Howard angrily lifted the needle of the record player, 'That's some classic New Orleans soul, sir. The purest form of Jazz'

'Whatever, where's Sazi I thought you had a gig tonight.'

Howard glared, 'She's playing with Leroy under the name Pimpernel-Cobain. Flouncing about with painted beauty spots, and unwashed hair. Jeez'

Vince grinned 'Wow I knew this would be huge, I should get out on the streets give people a chance to soak me up.' He swished his coat about him and headed for the door, when he was hit on the head by something and fell unconscious for the second time that day.

When he awoke this time however there was Howard and a ninja kneeling over him, the ninja handed him the object that had whacked him two minutes previously.

'Cheekbone' and then he sprinted off.

He glanced down at the magazine and was relieved to see his face on the front. He smiled at Howard. ' So, you gonna get an arm band and a latte?'

Howard glared. ' This is my look Vince. It's powerful and it'll be recognized again. I stand firm while you sail about on the sea off fashion.'

'You look like you got shipwrecked in 70's Miami.' Vince grinned and straightened up.

'This officially means I'm better with women than you' declared Howard, ' she sought me out, Oh yes, they call me the sexual dinosaur.'

Just then the door opened and a woman in a powdered wig and converse stuck her head round the door.

Howard jumped to his feet. 'Alright, Miss D'lyt. That's one of mine.'

She glanced at him 'It's Sazi De Sade now.' Then at Vince 'You coming to the Onion or not?' Vince jumped up and walked to the door, winking at Howard he slammed it shut behind him.

Howard sighed, put on the record and began to scat in melancholy fashion.


End file.
